


Family Business

by Llama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassin AU, Incest, M/M, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, all-human AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Llama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has a big night planned for his first job with the family business. As it turns out, he's not the only one with plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> Derek is not explicitly underage here, though if you matched events exactly with the canon timeline he probably would be.
> 
> Inspired by these prompts: [fullmoon_ficlet](http://fullmoon-ficlet.livejournal.com) prompt 01 - red, [teenwolf_bingo](teenwolf_bingo.livejournal.com) assassins/spies, [trope_bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) AU: all-human.

The motel room has white plastic furniture and an 'Out of order' notice on the TV. The garish sign outside bathes the room in blood red every few seconds, but from what he's seen so far Derek doesn't think anyone comes here to actually sleep. He certainly hasn't. They're barely out of Beacon Hills, could probably see the southern boundary of the preserve in daylight.

It might as well be a different world.

Peter snaps the blinds closed, but it doesn't help much. “I feel I should point out it isn't always like this,” he says drily. 

Derek breathes in stale smoke with an acrid aftertaste of bleach. He guesses he should be grateful someone cleaned up at all. “No?”

“No.” Peter's mouth slides into a familiar smirk before he turns away. “Sometimes you'll have to stay in some _real_ shitholes.”

“Good to know,” Derek says. “Really, thanks for that.” It's helped, though; he can feel some of the tension fall away. He drops down to test out the bed takes up most of the room — just the one, like Peter promised — and grimaces when the springs creak and groan.

“Don't bitch about the bed.” Peter shoves the broken TV to one end of the dresser and starts to unpack his knives. Derek's seen this routine before, but only from the sidelines. He's watched, he's learned, but he's never participated in a job.

That's going to change tonight. 

“Can I bitch about you not being _on_ the bed?” It's still new, being able to speak to Peter that way. It's new enough that Derek can feel a flutter in his stomach when he chances it; that he still stumbles over just calling him 'Peter' when necessary, has to hastily swallow the 'Uncle' that's a guaranteed moodkiller. 

“So demanding,” Peter tuts, but he's nudging his way between Derek's legs already, hands mussing up his hair. When he pushes, Derek lets himself fall back.

Peter kisses like he kills, focused and ruthlessly efficient. Derek's not sure what it says about him, but there's something about knowing that the hand working its way into his jeans will be guiding a knife into a man's guts later tonight that makes his blood rush even faster, makes his head pound. 

Of course, his hand will be doing the same thing. And since he's such a good student, and Peter's zipper is _right there_ —

“Fuck,” Peter gasps when Derek's hand wraps around his cock. His eyes are wide, and Derek grins, because this thing between them is new to Peter too, and he forgets it sometimes. “Harder. Do it harder.”

“That's my line, isn't it?” Derek says, doing as instructed.

Peter's eyes flash, his face washed in red neon. The brush of his cheek against Derek's is surprisingly tender when he leans down again, but there's nothing gentle about his words. 

“Later,” he growls, breath hot and wet against Derek's ear. “Going to fuck you so hard you'll still feel it next week.“ 

And that's all it takes. 

“Wash up and we'll go,” Peter says, rolling off the bed.

“Is it far?” Derek tugs his zipper back up and changes his t-shirt for a black one. He's flushed when he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, so he splashes his face with cold water.

“Close enough to walk,” Peter says, lifting the edge of the blinds to peer outside. “Well, well.”

Derek joins Peter as he hits the light switch. It's hard to see outside even with the dark room behind them, but he squints past the flashing sign to see what Peter is pointing out. 

“I can't see—” he says, but then he does. _Fuck_.

“Crazy Kate Argent,” Peter chuckles. “And some gentlemen friends. Maybe that father of hers hired some minders to keep her out of trouble.”

“He's as bad as her,” Derek says, watching her stride across the parking lot, blonde hair swinging behind her. “He's the one who thinks monsters are real—”

“And that the Hales are all... _werewolves_ , was it?” Peter's grin has almost enough tooth to make it plausible tonight. Derek can't look away from his mouth, the sharp gleam of teeth. “Sorry, Gerard. You have your predators confused.”

Outside, Kate is shouting something to the men walking with her, and they split off to climb into several different cars. They look like they mean business.

“She'll be causing someone trouble tonight,” Peter says, stepping outside. “Good thing it's not our problem.”

When they return, hands warm and sticky with another man's blood, sirens blare after them and Derek fights the urge to run.

When they scream past, towards Beacon Hills, towards the preserve where the forest is lit up with an unearthly red-orange glow, he doesn't fight it any more.


End file.
